


The One Where John Learns Sherlock is a Vampire

by shinodabear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, Crack, Gen, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinodabear/pseuds/shinodabear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock crosses a line, John confronts him, and learns something in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where John Learns Sherlock is a Vampire

**Author's Note:**

> Not to be taken seriously. (Although if you want to, who am I to stop you?)

Blood was everywhere: on multiple shelves in the refrigerator, in various sizes of beakers resting on various surfaces, even in the sausages Mrs Hudson would fry up every so often (“They’re Sherlock’s favorite, dear.”). John had become accustomed to it, as he’d become accustomed to most of Sherlock’s experiments, because there were rules in place to keep order in the kitchen. The problem was, Sherlock lived for chaos.

“You just put a mug of blood in the microwave.”

Sherlock sighed. “What an acute observation, Doctor Watson. Did you also notice I used the ‘popcorn’ setting?”

“Couldn’t you have heated it over a Bunsen burner?”

“What for?”

“Because it’s an experiment! Bunsen burners are for experiments. Microwaves are for food.”

“I’m aware of your ‘food-only’ zones in my home, John.”

“So then why have you gone and violated our agreement!”

The microwave beeped and Sherlock opened the door. “Who says I’ve violated the agreement?”

John may have blanched. “Sherlock. Please don’t tell me you’re actually going to –” John shut his eyes as Sherlock raised the mug to his lips. As a doctor and a soldier, John’s stomach was made of steel by necessity – but taking in his flatmate sipping blasé from a ceramic mug filled with blood was one step too far. “Tell me that was just tomato soup.”

“It wasn’t.”

John felt Sherlock walk past him.

“Mycroft thinks I shouldn’t let you know, but Mycroft is an idiot. The next time you risk your life for me, John, consider what life it is I have to lose.”

John already knew the answer, and Sherlock knew that John already knew, but John asked anyhow: “Mycroft thinks you shouldn’t let me know what, Sherlock?”

Sherlock tutted. It was the only answer he gave.

(It’s just a flatmate who drinks blood, John told himself. But John also supplied himself with the unfortunate information that Sherlock never ate real food, never slept, and was so ruddy pale and ethereal and impossible that of course he was a –) John opened his eyes and, after taking in a deep lungful of air, sighed. “Sherlock!”

“What?” came his petulant reply from the sofa.

“You left the microwave door open again! Would it kill you to shut it once in a while?”

There was a short delay before the sound of Sherlock’s laughter floated into the kitchen. John, too, laughed. What else was there to do?


End file.
